Now you stay quiet?
by Eskimo82
Summary: A collection of short(er) stories. Based on dialogue prompts. (Title is based on that one line gem in Episode 104: Murphy's law.) The prompt is the bold highlighted text in the body text of each chapter. #1 LOLLIPOP: Bellamy Blake is a good detective. He didn't imagine working in law enforcement as a kid. Mostly, he just wanted to raise his sister in peace and read a lot [...]
1. Chapter 1: table of contents

**A collection of short(er) non-interrelated stories. Based on dialogue prompts.**

 **(Title is based on that one line gem in Episode 104:** _ **Murphy's law**_ **.)**

The prompt is the bold highlighted text in the body text of each chapter.

* * *

 **CHAPTER 1: table of contents**

* * *

 **TABLE OF CONTENTS**

* * *

 **#1 LOLLIPOP**

Bellamy Blake is a good detective. He didn't imagine working in law enforcement as a kid. Mostly, he just wanted to raise his sister in peace and read a lot.

Then it all changed when he met detective Kane five years ago. Well, in all honesty, it all started the night before that when he spotted his sister making out in a car.


	2. Chapter 2: Lollipop

**A collection of short(er) non-interrelated stories. Based on dialogue prompts.**

 **(Title is based on that one line gem in Episode 104:** _ **Murphy's law**_ **.)**

The prompt is the bold highlighted text in the body text of each chapter.

* * *

 **Summary** :

Bellamy Blake is a good detective. He didn't imagine working in law enforcement as a kid. Mostly, he just wanted to raise his sister in peace and read a lot.

Then it all changed when he met detective Kane five years ago. Well, in all honesty, it all started the night before that when he spotted his sister making out in a car.

 **Notes** :

Remember how Horatio Caine's trademark is the sunglasses and the black shirt (in effing Miami)? Now, that's the blue tee for Bellamy in this little AU, even if it is not explicitly stated. With that being said, all my knowledge on detectives/detective work is coming from _CSI (Las Vegas)_ , a few seasons of _CSI: Miami_ and _Castle_ and the few hours of research I did online.

* * *

 **CHAPTER 2: Lollipop**

* * *

Bellamy Blake is good at his job. It doesn't make him one of those smug "all talk but no action" guys just to admit it.

His success rate is pretty decent, 93.79% this past eight months alone.

Unlike his partner, he's not one to brag about it yet he still knows his worth.

It took him a while to get there.

Bringing up Octavia, his baby sister, always came first. By the time she'd graduated from college, he had enough savings from his jobs to enrol into college himself. In the end, meeting Marcus Kane was the one what pushed him through police academy.

Being a bouncer at _Grounders_ for years also helped. The job (mostly night shifts) as a muscle kept his body in shape. His love for books and his perpetual yearning for learning something new has kept his mind sharp.

It still took him four years of hard work to become a detective. And maybe a little bit of luck.

Well, it had been pure luck that Lincoln was off work that night, even if, technically, he had been the one who punched him in the face and broke his nose. In his defence, Lincoln should have known better and told him that he'd been seeing Octavia _for months_.

He shouldn't have found out about his sister's older boyfriend the way that he did: in the middle of a heated lip lock. (On that fateful summer night when they'd park in the secluded part of the parking lot, right next to _his_ spot.)

Okay. So maybe the punch was not by accident but the fact that he'd left his favourite copy of _The Iliad_ in the backroom of the club - was.

Again, in his defence, he didn't know it was Lincoln when he grabbed the creep out of the car by the collar and swung his fist first.

Well, yeah. Not that he wouldn't wish to punch Lincoln or _any_ other chap in the face who was potentially dating his sister, but. Technically, the thing with Lincoln was an accident. Nonetheless, he wasn't in high school anymore. In all honesty, by the age of twenty-seven he'd matured plenty and had a fairly good control over of his emotions.

(Spring of 2003: He'd learned his lesson after the Atom incident.)

The night after the parking lot fiasco had happened to be the same night that had brought Detective Marcus Kane of the 13th into his life. Detective Kane had led an undercover operation of eighteen weeks which had all come to an end at his club. And the one Bellamy Blake, drop in bouncer of the night, had happened to play a pivotal role in the apprehension of the suspects.

His _being-on-top-of-things_ attitude earned him a stunning recommendation letter from Detective Kane (the future Captain Kane) and a mentor at the _13th Precinct_ a number of months later.

* * *

Today, at the age of thirty-two, here he is, arriving at the crime scene of his next case.

It's a relatively cloudless, sunny April day in Arkadia. The temperature is not yet warm enough to drop his light spring jacket, yet the sun is disturbingly vibrant.

He slides his sunglasses on as he steps out of his Imperial Blue, department issued Camaro. He presses the tiny car button on the remote and strides to the crouching figure at the base of the big sycamore tree in the middle of the park.

His eyes are sweeping the surroundings as he goes, one can never be cautious enough. Especially for the ones in law enforcement. It's a habit. Some they'd pound into their heads at their twenty-one weeks training at the academy. Others he just picked through the years.

Rule number one: Safety first.

In any case, he's never, _never_ forgotten about the book. (Not since the infamous "chocolate cake" operation anyway, that had almost cost him his partner. And even then, it wasn't exactly forgetting about it, but mentally shoving it away.)

He spots the silver van of the medical examiner not fifty meters from his - under the shadows of a row of young junipers, engine still running.

 _Hmm_ , he wonders who's attending on the death scene today.

The professional in question is nowhere to be seen and he wouldn't mind either, but. He has his preference. Even if the person in question has stormed into his life like the hurricane that often hits these shores. With all of her five and a half feet height, give or take. He hopes that maybe…

 _… maybe it's her._

He sighs and unwraps the foil of the candy he stashed into his left pocket that morning.

The sweets are just one of those habits he'd picked up from Detective Kane when he was still a rookie in a tight police officer uniform.

x x

" _What's in here,"_ Kane had said in their first week of patrol on their way to a 33, tapping a finger to his temple, " _can be the difference between life and death._ "

Watching the slow, deliberate movement of Kane's fingers, or maybe it was the calmness in his voice that made the memories of their dry, theoretical training from the academy rushing back to his mind.

x

 _The brain is dependent on sugar as its main fuel._

 _Brain functions such as thinking, memory, and learning are closely linked to glucose levels and how efficiently the brain uses this fuel source._

 _Glucose, a form of sugar, is the primary source of energy for every cell in the body. Because the brain is so rich in nerve cells, or_ neurons _, it is the most energy-demanding organ, using one-half of all the sugar energy in the body._

x

" _Stay sharp, son,"_ was all he said, offering a handful of gummy worms before cutting off the engine and parking their patrol car on the curb.

x x

Bellamy's a few steps away from his partner when his eyes narrow on a bloody smudge on the victim's shirt.

 _Possible cause of death,_ he mulls it over in his head, _must be the bullet wound on the victim's sternum._

"Reyes," he greets the brunette. "What do we have here?"

Raven Reyes is one of the youngest detectives at the precinct. _The youngest female detectives_ in the past 52 years, to be precise, and his partner of two and half years.

She's still in a weird crouching position, inspecting the body. Half her body is hovering over it, with a deep frown edged between her eyebrows.

 _That damn brace,_ he cannot stop the thought.

Months later and he's still blaming himself.

 _If only he'd gone by the book. Raven… No. If he'd gone by the book, Raven would be dead._

The brace is inconvenient, but Raven is, though, he reasons, shaking his head.

He takes a deep breath. In and out.

 _And she would cut your balls off, if she knew you were dwelling on the past, again,_ he mentally adds.

She doesn't look up, but she lifts the victim's tie with one of those plastic examination sticks they use on crime scenes. She fills him in as she continues to fiddle with the tie:

"Carl Emerson, thirty-five. According to his ID -" she points with two fingers at the dark leather wallet lying a few feet away on a green heap of grass. "- which, we still have to determine whether it's real, or a fake.

"He's wearing Armani and Hublot, and … some other brands I haven't even heard of, which suggests he's of money, but - **You brought lollipops to a crime scene? Really?** " Raven asks.

That's when he realises that she's stopped poking with the plastic stick, instead, looking at him with a questioning look in her eyes. He doesn't get to respond beyond cocking his head to the side and pursing his lips harder - as a way of telling her to _mind your own business, Reyes._

"Hey, get away from my patient," they hear her voice in a distance. _It's Clarke,_ he acknowledges with a twitch of his mouth.

Her blonde hair is up in a messy bun, a medical kit in her hands, and a sunny smile blooming on her cheeks.

"Your patient is dead, Griffin," he says, deadpan.

"Ha ha."

Finally, she's close enough that he can feel the heat of her.

He'd like to think it's purely her physical proximity that his stomach feels pleasantly uneasy - that he can practically feel those butterflies and their frenzy dance - but he knows it would be lie.

"Detective Blake. Raven," Clarke nods as a way of greeting.

"Doctor Griffin," he nods.

"I'm serious -"

"You're always serious," he mutters under his nose. He doesn't mean to be fussy, it's an instinct at this point. They don't know how not to be teasing. Period. It's their normal.

"Comes with the job," she tilts her head, just enough to meet him in the eye.

 _Her sky blue eyes are even bluer today if that's possible_ , he silently wonders.

They hold their gazes, that until Raven clears her throat and asks for _his_ help to get up.

Clarke soon takes her spot on the ground and gets to work.

* * *

All in all, cataloguing and bagging up evidence and preparing the body for transfer goes well.

Time flies so fast when Clarke is around. No exception. They chit-chat casually - about her asshole neighbor's taste in music and about the last book he's read. She knows that his sister's away on one-year trip on a boat, and she asks about her days and how things are going with Lincoln. He knows that her favourite colour is blue and he learns that she bought blue pillow quilt to her living room - which is ruled by blue accessories.

It feels like they broached a lot of topics, which is true, and yet, he remembers everything.

Raven pops in with a comment, here and there.

The lollipop is long gone by the time he begrudgingly notices that Clarke is returning her tools into her kit box, rising to her feet.

"Detectives, see you around," she waves them goodbye with her professional smile. And then she turns away.

He furrows his brows and fixes his gaze on her retreating back and swaying hips.

It's Raven's mumbling which brings him back to reality.

" _Oh my god,_ " Raven huffs.

Clarke has disappeared into the van, so he's quite confident she is out of earshot by now, but. He wouldn't put it beyond Raven to raise her voice here and there, accentuating on certain words. Clarke is an intelligent woman. She could easily catch onto their conversation.

"You are nauseating, Blake. Both of you. Just ask her out on a date _already_ ," she prompts with a pointed look, practically demanding.

A muscle in his jaw twitches.

"Yes, you heard me, _Bellamy_ ," she affirms, waving a finger in his direction as if to give further emphasis to her words. "Do me a favour and ask her out."

" _Hmph_ ," he grunts. He's pretty sure there's a betting pool going on. Which, he admits, was fun to partake in when it was about… well, not about him. "First Murphy and the DA, and now…" he sighs, deep.

"Right," she snorts. "Let me ask you this. Out of our last ten assignments, how many times exactly was Clarke our medical examiner on the crime scene? Or in the lab?"

 _Raven has a point._ He knows that the whole second floor of the precinct speculates and/or is vaguely aware of his budding crush on Clarke. (He loves to spend his coffee breaks in the lab. So what? She swings by his desk every other day dropping off a cookie or something sweet, too. They are friends now. Friends enjoy spending time together.)

He scrunches his nose in an attempt to think harder, but Raven beats him to the point before he as much as opens his mouth.

"Ten. Ten out of ten, Blake."

And she carries on: "Iceman, who's pretty interested in me, _by the way,_ voluntarily switched a few of his shifts, aligning _her_ time to our cases because he can't stand your puppy eyes anymore."

And then she moves closer, bumping her hips into his. "Everyone's betting on you," she says, without teasing. "Lemme tell you a secret. We are not betting on the _will they won't they,_ anymore.

"Oh no. We are betting on the day. And FYA: the Captain is also on it."

He is gawking at her. It's … news. Well - he _knows_ Clarke likes him. And he likes Clarke. But he cannot help that gnawing feeling of uncertainty eating his insides. So he _is_ waiting for a more obvious sign.

x

They linger as the rest of the unit finishes the job and cleans up the place. He can faintly hear his name, then a rustle and the click of a camera and watches as their photographer documents the scene for one last time. It's all standard routine, now that the body's been moved.

Raven is on her way limping towards the tree line when he perches up and rushes to her in a few long strides.

"Hey, thanks … for that," he nods back at the crime scene even if they both know it's not about the case. Silence lingers between them.

"You want a ride?" he finally offers.

"Nah, I'm parking down at the beach. Ya know, I need the exercise," she says, her mouth curved into a smile.

He acknowledges it with a small grunt but follows.

"I swear to god, I'm going to kick your butt, " Raven calls over her shoulder." And hard. You know, I still have my crutch."

They reach her car, a bright red classic convertible she's built from scraps, with a black raven print mounted on the front when she also adds: "I'm serious, _Bellamy_. I _could_ make it hurt. Big time. You'd possibly need medical attention."

He hears the click of the lock when Raven turns suddenly, facing him with a huge grin. The end of her pony tail hits him square in the face, making him spit out the few strands of hair that landed in his mouth. It's not like it hasn't happened before but it still catches him off guard every damn time.

"Although - " she adds, her voice is picking up that speculative tone, "- nothing a medical examiner cannot treat." She winks.

 _If only she'd keep that exceptionally cheery quality out of her tone,_ he muses.

"Alright, alright," he holds his hands up in surrender. "I got the message."

It occurs to him then that the department's monthly night out is in two days.

He sighs and then shakes his head.

 _Thursday_ , he sighs turning on his heels. But he cannot help adding a _maybe_ , as he waves goodbye with a flick of a wrist and heads back to his own car.

* * *

 **END NOTES**

 **33** \- is meant to stand for a petty shoplifting theft according to my research in some states only. I cannot really keep up with all the different dispatcher codes so please let's pretend it is what it is.

xxx x

If you have any questions (like: is anyone interested in who the DA is or maybe if Bellamy actually goes for it?) you can find me on tumblr.

Thanks for reading and any form of feedback ( **kudos** and/or **comments** ) would be nice. Thanks!


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